


At Least I Keep His Eyes In My Life

by vigilantesinthedark



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Angst, Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Dialogue Light, I wrote this while watching an episode of Cake Wars about Captain America, M/M, So much angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-11
Updated: 2016-06-11
Packaged: 2018-07-14 12:17:04
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 788
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7170734
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vigilantesinthedark/pseuds/vigilantesinthedark
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The shooter was masked with few identifying features. One though, Steve could instantly recognize. His eyes. Steve knew those eyes. Someone he loved had those eyes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	At Least I Keep His Eyes In My Life

**Author's Note:**

> This is sort of like my last fic "Shields", in terms of the writing style. 
> 
> The artists in the comics were fairly inconsistent with Bucky's eye color, drawing them blue on one page and brown on another, so I kind of went with it in the second paragraph.
> 
> Title from "Satisfied" from Hamilton.

Describe the shooter, Nat had said. Steve ran through the list of notable features, most prominent being the metal arm. She could work with everything he’d told her. And that’s what she went off to do, leaving Steve alone to think about the unspoken, last item on the list. The shooter’s eyes. Steve had seen eyes like his before. 

Eyes that never stayed one color. Most days they were blue. Clearer than high noon on a sunny day. Darker than the bottom of the ocean. Then they’d be brown. Brown as the mud he would trench through in the days of army training. As brown and sweet to look upon as the chocolate they were so rarely able to afford. There was no pattern to the colors changing. They were unpredictable, just like the person they belonged to.

Eyes like those had held bottomless love and affection. Those eyes had followed his every move like a dog would follow its owner. Sparkling every time he entered a room. People would notice the look in those eyes- how could they not?- but would write it off as platonic, when in reality it was anything but. Those eyes had started into his, whispering words that meant so much, that offered protection, that gave love, that built something special, something unbreakable, that Steve still carried with him. 

Eyes that held mirth. Amusement was ever present in them. Whether it was a joke, a story, something Steve had done, or antics from the guys at the docks there was always laughter in those eyes. Add that to the laughter lines and dazzling smile that had charmed all the dames- Steve and a few of the Howlies too- and there was always a sign of something funny afoot. 

Similar eyes had scanned Steve over with such concern and care. Doctors visits got expensive, and Steve was sick so often from his various maladies that they added up quickly. Steve's eyes were often met by eyes so worried for him that nothing else was apparent in them. Struggling to stay open, Steve's eyes had focused on the beautiful jumble of colors- like someone had smeared a few paints together on a palate- as his ears strained for the rush of harried instructions. “Please, please Stevie, keep your eyes open babydoll, don't close ‘em on me, don't let go.” With all the experience gained from caring from Steve, those eyes could have seen lessons, diplomas, patients, but they hadn't. 

There had also been horrible anger in those eyes. Someone at the docks said something that rubbed him the wrong way, a girl had made an assumption about him and his views, or any number of political issues and the eyes were the targeting sights for the loose cannon that was to follow. Steve could attest to how terrifying it was to have that anger pointed at him. It was scarce to happen, but when it did, there was no escaping it.

In a resemblant pair of eyes, terror had been a rarity to see. It was there often- and blatant when it was- but shielded. Steve had mostly ever seen it when he was thought to not be looking. When he was sick which happened so, so often, the terror was apparent. Or when he was covered in bruises and soaked in blood because he refused to back down from a fight. And in the army, while they tried to look carefree among the Howlies, there was fear for all of them should something go wrong.

Sadness was painted in the depths of identical eyes. Steve had seen it a lot. He had been one of the only people privileged to see it. The walls had come down and all the emotions had been revealed through the eyes. The biggest wave of sadness had come at Sarah’s death. Sarah had seen something in those eyes as well. She had found someone who was somewhere between friend and son. So her death had left a similar sadness in those eyes as in Steve’s.

The shooter’s eyes had held nothing., there had been nothing. No emotions, silent words, or anything. The equivalent of radio silence. His eyes seemed to be a lie, or at least and omittance of the truth. Steve had every intention of hunting the shooter down. Obviously because of what happened to Fury, but also to find answers. 

He’d thought those eyes had died with Bucky- full of panic, clinging to Steve the way his hands had clung to the rail. Until the contact was broken. It had hurt, but he had adjusted to life in the modern world without those eyes. Now they were back. And Steve fully intended to find out why.


End file.
